


Til the end of time

by MintChocolateLeaves



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Moulin Rouge AU, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 09:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintChocolateLeaves/pseuds/MintChocolateLeaves
Summary: 'Never fall in love with a man who sells himself. It always ends bad.' - Moulin Rouge!AU. Oneshot.





	Til the end of time

**Author's Note:**

> A few months ago, some of the people in the new era server forced me to watch Moulin Rouge. I did. It hurt. So now, I'm hurting you all with this little oneshot. Enjoy- xx

The typewriter is useless, at the end of the day.

What is the point in writing about love, when it’s only ever a ploy to get further up the ladder. Markus pawns it off, trades it for the cash and finds that there’s little inside him that cares for its loss. Connor has loved spending time typing on it, and so – if everything was a ruse, if their _love_ had been faked…

He’d glad that it’s gone.

This will be the last time he’ll head into the Moulin Rouge. His brother had been correct when he’d said that living on foolish dreams would get him nowhere – leaving home to create works based on love?

Well, at least he’ll look presentable. He’s stolen the suit of the play’s lead. He’ll have to apologise to North later, but for now, she’s left without the costume change that will lead them into the finale.

How very fitting – in both the play and their reality, Connor will choose the richer man. The _duke._

Markus doesn’t knock on the door. There’s no point in politeness anymore, there’s nothing to be polite for. He steps inside, feeling oddly detached as he stared at Connor. The man is covered in diamonds, and yet, even knowing that everything has been a lie, Markus can’t stop the thought that his smile is worth more than–

No. He’s come here for one reason, and one reason alone.

“I’ve come to pay my bill.”

Connor turns, and maybe it is the lighting, or maybe it’s the fact that Markus knows the truth now, but his eyes dull at the sight of him. Not that good an actor then, if he can’t fake it this last time.

Connor shakes his head, steps forward. He meets Markus’ eyes, unflinching. There is no guilt there, which – it leaves rage rolling in his stomach, untamed, burning through him. It is worse than any jealousy.

“You shouldn’t be here, Markus.” Connor says, waving him off as he steps past. His skin is glistening, a mingle of sweat and glitter. “Just _go.”_

He won’t – Of course Markus won’t. He’s here for a reason now, to pay off his debts and to finally walk away from all of this. Or… Or to get an answer, to learn the truth. He’s not really sure, anymore.

So, when Connor heads down the corridor, Markus follows. When the man adjusts his gait, moves faster, Markus only copies. Until they’re by the staircase leading to the top of the stage, where he leans forward, grabs Connor by the arm and pulls him back.

“You made me believe that you loved me,” he says, voice cracking with a mixture of grief and anger. Connor jerks in his grasp, tries to get away. “Why shouldn’t I pay you?”

“Markus,” Connor breathes, pulling away. There’s a crack in his façade now, but it’s easily overlooked. “Please, just _go.”_

Not until he’s said his part. He makes his way up the staircase, grabs Connor’s hand, wincing when the man frees himself from the gesture.

“He’s expected on stage–”

Markus knows when Connor’s expected on stage. He’s written the _fucking manuscript,_ but that doesn’t mean he cares. Why must the show go on? Why do they have to throw away their happiness in their reality for a stupid _script?_

Yes – he knows that in the script, jealousy has driven the artist into hiding. But they are here, and they are _real,_ and Markus is not hiding. Not now.

Connor heads up more stairs, but Markus’ hand tugging on his wrist makes him falter. He goes down on one knee, and Markus uses this as his chance to pull the man closer.

“You did your job so very, _very well,_ Connor.” Markus hisses. The words are like poison on his tongue. “Why can’t I pay you like everybody else does?”

The actor kicks out, throws as much force into Markus as he can, and for a moment, as Markus staggers backward, catching himself before he can fall down the stairs, they simply stare at each other.

“Don’t, Markus.” Connor says, and he’s begging now. “There’s no point. Just leave.”

Well, two can play a game of doing as the other wants, or neither of them will. Connor refuses to fulfil his want of hearing the truth? Then Markus will refuse the actors want for him to leave.

They make their way upstage, to the fly-over where the curtain will eventually open… Markus doesn’t care, simply follows Connor, ignoring Amanda’s shouts onstage of knowing where the artist has gone – where the artist is hiding…

“Stop him!”

Someone pulls at his shoulder, tries to keep him from proceeding, but they are nothing. Markus barely even turns, simply pushes them back, expending more effort than he probably needs to, to make them understand that he won’t let himself be stopped.

He grabs Connor’s arm, pulls him back. And maybe he winces as Connor screams _“Please, don’t”,_ but he ignores it because… because this is more manipulation, right? Connor has only been toying with him, and to think he can continue to get away with as such…

_[Connor’s eyes are focused on a gun, on the woman who works for Kamski. Maybe Markus doesn’t know the consequence of his own visit, doesn’t know the danger he’s in, but Connor does – and he is terrified.]_

“If you don’t love me.” Markus says, as Connor struggles against him, neither man gaining control of the situation, “if you – if it wasn’t real Connor, then why can’t I pay you?”

He’s turned to pleading now, begging Connor for some reaction more than… than _this._ Eventually the shift, Connor is no longer looking away from him, but at him, and Markus is holding onto the man’s wrists, pulling him nearer, closer.

There are tears in Connor’s eyes, but they’re fake – Markus knows they are. Connor’s an actor for fucks sake, he’s able to create them on demand, he must be able to because when he’d come from Kamski’s…

He’d faked the fear too. Had faked the want to leave the Moulin Rouge behind. Everything had been a lie.

Are the only truths within their relationship, the ones that Markus had brought forward? But – but it had all seemed so real.

“Let me pay,” he shouts, desperate now, and everything is blurry with tears, “ _Let me pay.”_

Outside he can hear Amanda shouting to open the doors. Connor glances over his shoulder, pulls Markus to the side, nearer to the curtains, and then, he collapses to his knees.

Markus tries to pull him up, but Connor does not budge. He begs, “Go. _Markus, go.”_

“Tell me it wasn’t real,” Markus pleads, forgoing his grip on Connor to pull out the cash he’d gotten for typewriter, the dream he doesn’t want anymore because Connor’s ruined _everything._ He sobs, “tell me it wasn’t real!”

Connor opens his mouth and falters. Tears add to the shine of his face beneath the lights. It reflects more than the glitter ever could.

The play has not stopped for them, and so, it does not stop for them now –

 _“Tell me you don’t love me,”_ Markus begs, voice raised, pulling Connor closer to him, **_“Tell me you don’t love me.”_**

-The Curtains open.

Markus’ gaze is torn from Connor.

He glances out at the audience, to the actors on stage and realises that Connor – _God, the man really does get everything he wants._ He’d wanted to get back to being an actor so much that he’d rather drag Markus onstage with him than talk to him.

The audience are quiet, worried, but Markus does not see most of them. All he can see, when he looks out, is Kamski, sat in the second row, watching. The man narrows his eyes at him, lips tightening.

Amanda takes a single look at Connor, takes a look at Markus, and like the witch she is, takes control of the scene with almost impenetrable calmness. She says, “I am not fooled.”

No, she has never been fooled, she’d made herself pretty clear from the get-go. Connor was a prize in a game that was never meant to be won. Markus hates her, hates her almost as much as he hates Kamski.

“Though she’s cut her hair, bound her breasts, to disguise as a man, my eyes do not deceive me.” Amanda continues. “For it’s she, the very same artist.”

The crowd offer nods now, nodding their heads at this very ‘interesting’ plot line.

“Driven mad, by jealousy.”

Markus stands now, and almost as if guided by the audience and his nature to deceive, Connor stands, as if this was part of the original script. Markus scowls, hand gripped tightly over Connor’s arm as he pulls the man forward.

And then, he pushes him forward, lets go and watches as Connor falls. He collapses to the floor in something that looks real, but isn’t, coughs, and plays the part of terrified courtesan. Fine then: let their reality mingle with the script. It was based off them anyway.

He meets Kamski’s eye, lifts a hand to point towards Connor.

“This man is yours now,” he says, voice hollow. He can’t stand the Duke’s face, but he doesn’t want to look towards Connor, either. Still… he’s here for a reason, why not make a show of it?

This is what Connor wanted.

He turns, throws banknotes towards the fallen man. Connor glances up at him now, his chest heaving, lips parted. He’s blinking, quickly, to avoid the onset of any more tears, but that’s only because they have an audience now.

“I’ve paid my whore.” Markus says, voice echoing through the theatre. “I owe you _nothing.”_

“Please–” Connor whispers.

“And you,” Markus says, “are nothing to me.”

Connor moves forward, raises his hand out, but Markus refuses it. He turns away from him, swallowing down his anger, his regret. The sadness rises its way back up though, burning more than bile ever could.

 

The play can crash and burn for all he cares, let the bad guys win.

“Thank you-"

His voice cracks, hands shake as he takes a step away from Connor, down the staircase that leads off stage. He takes a step forward, and then another. And then one more.

“-For curing me of my – _ridiculous –_ obsession with love.”


End file.
